


Long Live the Queen

by TheNerdPrincess



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Queen of Crime Lizzie, Slow Burn, mid season 5 au but spoilers through season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26963002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNerdPrincess/pseuds/TheNerdPrincess
Summary: "He couldn’t see her, blinded by the light he was bathed in, but from the darkness she could see everything perfectly."Lizzie returns to DC after spending a year away. She finds Reddington, demanding answers and help, and he gives her all he can, as he always has.(AU starting mid-season 5, after Ruin. Slow burn Lizzington.)
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	1. The King is Dead

It was nearly midnight, sometime in November, when Harold Cooper was roused from a restless doze in front of the muted TV by a loud knocking on his front door. Running a hand over his face with a deep sigh, Cooper made his way to the door and peered through the peephole. He opened the door with a frown.

“Can I help you?”

The young man, more of a boy, really, held a thick stack of manila folders in his arms.

“Delivery for you, sir,” the boy said somberly, raising the folders. A yellow sticky-note waved slightly in the nighttime breeze, a cold gust that cut right through the loungewear Cooper wore and chilled him to the bone.

_ “Don’t let the good of the past years go to waste, Harold. Continue our work, fight the good fight, who knows who your taskforce may help in the future. My love to Charlene. - Raymond Reddington” _

“What is this?” Cooper asked, eyes scanning Reddington’s familiar handwriting. 

“I’m just here to deliver, sir,” the boy insisted.

Cooper nodded silently, accepting the folders with a sinking feeling. Before the door even clicked shut behind him he fished his phone out of his robe pocket and pinned it between his shoulder and ear as it rang, the heavy stack of folders balanced precariously in his arms. 

“Aram, it’s me. Sorry to call so late. I think something has happened to Reddington, he’s always liked you, do you have a way to reach out? You do? Good, do it. I’m calling the team in, be at the Post Office in an hour.”

Cooper read the note again, worry lines deepening across his forehead.

—————

It was midnight in November and the abandoned warehouse was dark, silent, and bitterly cold. The smell of mold and salt had seeped into every old wall. A single, naked bulb hung from the darkness in the ceiling, illuminating a stocky man tied firmly to a chair. 

“What the hell is this?” He fumed, tugging at his bonds. “Don’t you know who I work for?”

He glared into the darkness, unsure if he was shouting at nothing or if there were figures lurking just beyond the light. 

Moments passed. Long, silent moments marked only by the frightened beat of his heart and the rushing of blood in his ears.

Just as he was sure he was alone, perhaps left to freeze by some unknown enemy, a voice replied. Feminine and musical, but with an indisputable hard edge to it, a voice not to be trifled with.

“Oh, I know who you worked for.”

She emerged from the shadows as if born from them, striding into the light with the click of heels that echoed endlessly around them.

“Who are you? What do you want?” He spat, furious.

She removed a pin from her hair as she stepped forward, shaking her hair out until it fell in soft waves around her face. Her eyes, blue and cold as ice, looked down at him with detached boredom, as if he wasn’t worth her time. It galled him.

“Hey, bitch, answer me!”

The woman pursed her lips and sighed a little. Gathering her slinky evening gown around her, she lowered herself, balancing herself on her heels. She held his glower with an even, dispassionate gaze of her own. He fumed silently, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You’re here because I need you to deliver a message for me,” she said.

“And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because what I’m about to tell you will change your life and the lives of many of the people around you, and because you’re going to want to be on my good side.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking or overconfident, she was stating a fact. The man quietened. 

“And what’s this message that is so important?”

For the first time the woman showed a small amount of emotion. A twitch of her lip lifting in the corner, the faintest shadow of a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“The Concierge of Crime is dead.”

The man visibly blanched, all his machismo drained in a moment. 

“How?”

“Doesn’t matter, there’s your message. Raymond Reddington is dead.”

She stood, brushing her skirt smooth, and walked away, her footsteps echoing as she melted back into the darkness. She paused by the door and looked back. He couldn’t see her, blinded by the light he was bathed in, but from the darkness she could see everything perfectly.

Looking at one of the men by the door, she nodded. He tossed a bowie knife in, sending it skittering across the dirty floor until it stopped at the feet of the man tied to the chair. The woman, out of his sight, smiled broadly. The door rattled shut behind her and she slid into the back of the car idling in front of the warehouse.

—————

It didn’t take long for word to spread throughout the criminal underworld Reddington had once called home. Whispers on street corners, brief texts, phone calls to the other side of the world, notes passed in bars. 

_ “The king is dead, but there’s a new player in town.” _

No one knew who she was or where she came from. All they knew was the empire that Reddington had built was passed entirely to her, with much less bloodshed than these sorts of successions usually cause. Rumors flew. Was she his daughter? His lover? His killer?

She rarely spoke to anyone except Reddington’s former right-hand, Dembe, who accompanied her everywhere. She played mostly by Reddington’s playbook, never sleeping in the same bed for more than a few nights in a row, continuing his work with strict personal moral codes in place. She wasn’t as hands on as Reddington, but when she was...oh, when she was. That’s when the whisperers stuttered, glancing around.

Reddington had been harsh, but this woman. She was precise, emotionless, and ruthless. She could kill a man with a pencil and make it look like an accident. If she didn’t get what she wanted she left bodies in her wake. No one could say that they weren’t deserving of what she ended up giving them, but still….she was killing criminals in a world full of criminals, and that struck fear into the hearts of anyone not explicitly on her side. She always seemed to have the upper hand, to know where they were before they knew they were going there. When you walked into a meeting place to see her sitting where you expected your partner it was a death warrant if you didn’t do exactly what she asked. Eventually, it didn’t matter who she was to Reddington except in one way. She was his heir, and that fact was accepted by most players who used to work with or under Reddington.

_ “The king is dead,”  _ the whispers said.  _ “But now there’s a queen on the throne.” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: this was written without any information from Season 7

_ Three months earlier _

It was a day like any other day. True to his word, painfully, agonizingly true, Raymond Reddington had no idea where Elizabeth Keen was. He had promised her that he would not track her, and despite all the promises he had broken in his time, this one he kept, as much as it hurt him. Not a day went by that he didn’t wake with a heavy heart, his thoughts only on her. On this particular day he and Dembe were taking it easy, they had no appointments until the evening, so Red was making waffles for himself and his closest associate and only friend. Despite the early hour, Red was already dressed in his iconic handmade three piece suit.

“Make sure you make mine crispy,” the tall, dark man ordered, swiping a handful of blueberries from the bowl on the counter.

“Hey, hey, those are for the waffles!” Red chided, waving his hand as Dembe dodged away from the smack with a grin.

“I’ll make them how they should be made, no changes,” the older man said, faux grump in his tone, carefully watching the waffle maker and flipping it at the precise moment it indicated readiness.

A knock at the door severed their playful banter. Dembe’s hand went to the weapon ever present at his hip. Reddington stilled him with a hand, stepping carefully to the door. They weren’t expecting visitors.

Pausing at the door, Reddington glanced behind him. Dembe nodded, ready, and Reddington opened the door.

His heart stopped. 

Raymond Reddington had died several times in his life. Once, on a beach in Ibiza, he had experienced an out-of-body sensation. Covered in jellyfish stings, hallucinating wildly and in enough pain to stop a lesser man’s heart, he watched the waves wash over his unmoving body as the tide came in. The immobilizing poison coursing through his veins had rendered him unable to get away from the encroaching water. All he could do was watch himself drown terribly slowly, the salt and sand filling his mouth, filtering down his throat. The pain that every breath caused as the grit scraped the inside of his lungs and he struggled to stay alive was  _ nothing _ compared to the agony in his chest at this moment. It was as if all the oxygen had been dragged from the room.

_ “Lizzie,” _ he breathed her name like a prayer. He hadn’t seen her for 11 months, 13 days, and 3 hours. And now, suddenly, here she was. There was an extra edge to her expression, a shifting mistrust in her eyes. She watched him cautiously, like a wounded animal. His gaze roamed her face, noting every extra worry line, every small scrape or scar. Her hair was a few inches longer, a bit darker. She stood easily, at least physically recovered from her wounds. 

Reddington's lungs burned and he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Won't you come in?" He stepped aside, allowing her entrance to the apartment. The scent of pine and vanilla trailed after her as she entered, an odd, heady combination unfamiliar to Red. He frowned slightly, unseen by the others. She had changed, he just didn't know how much yet.

Dembe greeted her with a nod of his head. He was grateful that she was safe, that she was back.

Closing the door behind her, Reddington turned, watching her walk into the apartment. She stepped lightly, with a spring to the movement that belied a preparedness to jump, dodge, run at any moment. He couldn't believe that she was really there. Bathed in sunlight from his floor-to-ceiling windows, body taught as a drawn bow.

"You're safe here, Lizzie," Red murmured in a low voice rough with emotion. "You're safe now."

She turned to him and raised one eyebrow, meeting his eyes.

"Are you sure? Because a few more seconds and we may have to evacuate," she said.

Reddington suddenly became aware of the acrid scent of smoke tickling his nose. Dembe seemed to come to the realization at the same moment. 

"The waffles!" Red exclaimed, and his partner hurried to the machine, yanking the plug from its socket and smothering the whole thing with a thick tea towel.

After the smoke had subsided he opened the waffle maker and carefully peeled the blackened remains from the griddle.

"I wanted mine crispy, Raymond, but this-"

He dangled what used to be his breakfast between two fingers.

Reddington paused for a moment, then spread both hands out in a helpless gesture.

"Everyone's a critic!" He exclaimed, perhaps with a bit of forced humor. Both he and Dembe glanced at Elizabeth. Her expression might have been called a smile, but it was far from genuine.

"Waffle, Lizzie?" Red asked, moving to the still-smoking appliance.

"I'll pass," she replied, tucking her hands in her pockets as she remained standing in the middle of the room. "I think you and I need to have a talk."

Red sobered immediately. Handing the waffle maker to Dembe, he walked into the living room and gestured to the couch, his hand hovering by the small of her back. It was all he could do not to wrap her in his arms right then, reassure himself that she was real, that she was safe, that she was truly standing before him. Instead, he felt her warmth move away as she crossed to an overstuffed chair positioned in the corner of the room, slightly away from the couch. From that seat she had her back to a corner and a view of the whole open-plan area, from the giant windows lining the wall of the living room to the bar and the kitchen where Dembe was quietly washing up. Reddington simply observed her. It was the seat he would take were he in an uncertain situation. He took his place on the couch, the closest seat to her.

The two of them studied each other in silence.

Reddington unabashedly raked his eyes over her entire figure, not leering or lustful, but simply drinking her in, memorizing every part of her. The morning sun turned her hair into a shining bronze, but it also highlighted how pale she had become. Her high cheekbones were more prominent, her wrists jutting out more harshly. There was muscle there, yes, but not enough to hide the strain that the past year had put her through.

As if she could read his thoughts, Elizabeth tugged the sleeves of her flannel down a bit further.

"You wanted to talk," Red said gently. He knew what was coming. Ever since Dom had called him, weeks ago, and confessed to telling her the truth, he knew there were only two outcomes. Either Elizabeth would disappear and he would never see her again, or she would find him and she would have her reckoning. Despite the pain he knew it would put both of them through to face the past and the truth, he couldn't help but feel relieved that she had chosen the latter. 

"You are not my father." She stated. An accusation, full of hurt and betrayal, but not sad. There were no tears in her eyes, her blue gaze meeting his green unwaveringly. He couldn't read her thoughts in her eyes like he used to be able to, he couldn't tell what was going on in her head. Her defenses had grown in her time away. Shored up by grief that hardened into anger and the promise of vengeance. 

"I am not."

No more running, no more hiding, no more lies. He had been living a lie for so long that it had almost become his truth. 

"You're not even Raymond Reddington."

"No." Short, clipped, to the point. He knew they had to process through this together, but that didn't mean it was easy for him. He knew, behind that wall she had up, it wasn't easy for her either.

"You let me believe that you were."

"I had to."

"No, you didn't."

He inclined his head. "I couldn't risk my secret getting out. If anyone knew-"

"Kate knew. Dembe knows, doesn't he? Tom-" her voice cracked slightly and she narrowed her eyes, pushing down the emotion, sealing it away with anger. When she continued it was in a monotone.

"Tom knew. Nick knew."

"And you saw what happened to them. What almost happened to you," Red's voice was deep and rough, unabashedly laced with emotion. He had spent day after day after day by her bedside, praying to every god he knew that she would wake up. He had never felt so utterly helpless. He had never felt like such a failure. 

"Why?"

Such a simple question, but with a dozen layered, complicated answers. Reddington took a deep breath. He could feel Dembe's eyes on him, boring into him, telling him to stop running, to tell her the whole truth at long last.

"The truth," he started, and he watched as Elizabeth's fingers went to the scar on her wrist. 

"The truth is that I wanted to protect you. If you knew my true identity it would have put a target on your back."

He didn't feel it was necessary to include how much it hurt to allow her to think he was her father. How he had sat on the edge of the motel bed after she left and drank scotch straight from the bottle until he had passed into a restless slumber. He would do anything, anything to protect her. Even if it hurt him. Even if it meant denying himself what he wanted most in the world.

"Who are you?" Lizzie's voice broke him from his slight reverie.

"You already know who I am, Dom told you."

"I want to hear you say it. You promised never to lie to me. Tell me who you are."

The words didn't come easily. He had been Raymond Reddington for more than half his life. He  _ was _ Raymond Reddington.

"I am Ilya Koslov."

The words felt foreign in his mouth. A name that hadn't been his for nearly three decades.

"Who were you to my mother?"

"Katarina and I grew up together. We joined the KGB together. We were childhood friends, partners through everything."

"Were you lovers?"

"No."

"Did you want to be?"

Red shook his head. "No. Your mother was a friend, a good friend. But we just weren't interested in each other like that. That's how we worked so well together, nothing ever came between us. That's why she trusted me with you."

"You were there, the night of the fire."

A nod. 

"She called, said she was arguing with your father. She needed help. By the time I arrived the fire had already started. I heard you, inside, screaming."

The smell of smoke that lingered in the air from the waffle suddenly seemed sharper. Elizabeth felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

"I ran in to try and find you. I got you out, took you to Sam."

"And my mother?"

"She walked into the ocean a few months later. I never saw her again."

And there it was, the truth, laid out before them. The truth that he had spent millions trying to hide, the truth she had hunted for over half a decade. The truth that had nearly gotten them both killed multiple times.

“And this...all of this...you hid to protect me?” she asked. Reddington nodded.

“Well, you failed.” Her voice was rising, angry. “Everyone close to me is hurt or dead. I almost died. I can’t see my daughter because I pose such a great risk to her. Because of my connection to you.”

He sat impassively, letting her rail against him, letting her take her anger out on him. It made her even angrier.

“From the day you surrendered to the FBI you painted a target on my back!”

“Lizzie-”

“No! You don’t get to talk right now!”

She was standing now, thumb rubbing harshly at her scar.

“You threw me into your world without so much as asking what I wanted. You led me on wild goose chases across the world, I  _ killed _ because of you.” She spat the word through gritted teeth. 

“Before I met you I would have never even considered that.”

The sudden silence hung heavy in the air. Dembe had disappeared to somewhere else in the apartment, allowing them the privacy they needed.

“You were always in danger, Lizzie. I couldn’t protect you from a distance anymore.”

She slumped back into the chair, rubbing her hands over her face.

“Why, why did you want to protect me so badly? Kate, I understand. She raised me when I was a baby. But you? Why you?”

“Katarina asked me to. I ensured you were safe and cared for with Sam, and then...I left. Sam would send me updates occasionally, let me know how you were. We were both so proud when you graduated from Quantico.”

“It was only when my information on the cabal became urgent that I knew I had to be close to you to protect you. I knew it would hurt, I knew it would be difficult. But I couldn’t trust Tom to protect you, not after he betrayed me, and...I wanted to see who you had become. To meet you, properly.”

Elizabeth kicked off her shoes and balanced her heels on the edge of the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. Curled defensively, piercing blue eyes staring at him, a film of restrained tears making them swim slightly.

“Well, you met me. And then you changed me.”

Reddington shook his head. “No, Lizzie. Your experiences changed you. You were fired in a crucible of pain and suffering and you didn’t crack. You are strong, smart, and ambitious. That’s who you are, who you’ve always been. I just feel lucky that I was able to stand by you while you discovered that.”

They stayed like that, watching each other, silent, for what felt like hours. Finally, Elizabeth let out a breath.

“Tom’s killers.”

Reddington inclined his head, listening.

“I know you have your bag of bones back, that your interest is done,” she continued, “but mine isn’t. I want them. I want them to know I’m coming. I want them to live in fear until I find them, then I want them to suffer, then I want them to die.”

“Lizzie, my interest is your interest. If you want the men who killed Tom I will deliver them on a silver platter, but remember what I told you before you left. You need to allow yourself to grieve.”

Elizabeth’s eyes hardened.

“I’ll grieve when the men who killed my husband are dead.”

Red nodded, slapping his knees as he stood up.

“Very well then! I believe we have some planning to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! How do we get from where we are now to what happened in the first chapter? Guess you'll just have to wait and see ;) I hope this chapter answered all necessary questions to get us established in the AU. Let me know if it didn't and I'll try and address them in further chapters!


	3. Breakfast

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what she was expecting when Raymond stood. Perhaps he would pull out a burner phone, or summon Dembe, or produce schematics of some building where Tom’s killers were hiding.

Instead, he escorted her to the master suite.

“You can rest here,” he said, opening the door. 

“Rest?” Elizabeth turned on him, incredulous. “You want me to rest?”

He met her gaze evenly, nodding slightly, eyebrows raised a little.

“Yes. I want you to shower, change into clothes that don’t look like they’re out of  _ Lumberjack’s Weekly _ , and rest. We’ll brunch in an hour, I’ll order food from that little cafe you like in Dupont Circle.”

“This is ridiculous,” she scoffed. “I can’t believe you want me to play house with you while Tom’s killers are out there.”

“As pleasant as that may be, Lizzie,” Reddington replied firmly, “there is no action we can take right now that would get you any closer to your goal. There will be plenty of time to work in the coming days. For now, we gather our strength and prepare. I have some calls to make, so you can either sit in that chair in the living room like a pale spectre haunting me, or you can make use of the twelve-headed waterfall and body spray shower system I had put in earlier this year.”

He tilted his head as he looked down at her, waiting for her answer. She sighed, crossing her arms and looking around the room.

“Twelve? That seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

A shadow of her former self flickered across her face, faintly revealing itself in the tone of her voice, and Red could have jumped for joy. She wasn’t lost. Not entirely. The grief and anger hadn’t consumed her fully, not yet. There was hope.

“Ha!” He let out a bark of laughter. “You should have seen the hot-tub installation they tried to sell me on.”

With that, he rested a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the massive master bath.

“Towels on the heater there,” he pointed out, “There are shower bombs, soap, and washcloths here.”

He opened a bathroom cabinet, revealing a healthy stock of soaps, scrubs, shampoos, conditioners, and other assorted bathroom condiments.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

“You and Dembe don’t have much need for hair products,” she commented. Red looked at her, completely serious.

“We were alway ready for you to come home.”

With that, he took his leave, closing the door behind him and leaving her to disrobe and absentmindedly run a hand over the bottles before her. She heard faint conversation on the other side of the wall, Red’s deep, rough voice and Dembe’s smooth, accented one trading rapidly, almost as if they were arguing. It took no thought at all for her to grab a glass sitting by the sink, upend it, and press it to the wall so she could listen in.

“...isn’t healthy. It isn’t  _ her _ ,” Reddington said.

“Then why are you encouraging her?” Dembe asked. Elizabeth could picture Reddington’s defeated sigh.

“Because we both know she’ll do it one way or another. If I’m by her side through it at least I can try and protect her. To shield her from some of the darkness.”

“She should go back to the task force. They will help her back to the light there.”

“She doesn’t want to, and we can’t make her. She’s completely focused on finding the men who killed Tom, nothing will sway her.”

Having heard enough, Elizabeth pulled back from the wall and stepped into the shower, turning it on full-force. The water jetted out, droplets hitting her skin like a thousand pinpricks, then settled into a heavy drumming rhythm on her skin. The steam rose around her, water almost scalding her, but she welcomed the intensity. Blindly grabbing a washcloth and soap she scrubbed at her skin until it was pink and tender, roughly washing away the memories of the past three years. The coma, the rehabilitation, the cabin in Alaska. The men she had killed there, and her subsequent journey to find the truth and return to DC. It all ran down the drain along with the grime she scraped from her body, and she emerged soaking, raw, and ready to throw herself into her hunt for vengeance.

—————

Reddington was arranging various takeaway boxes on the living room table when he heard the door to the bedroom open.

“Ah, Lizzie, you’re just in time-” he straightened, about to say something else he was sure, but words flew from his mind when he saw her. He stared at her, mouth open slightly, frozen where he stood, transfixed.

“What, I couldn’t find any normal person clothes,” Elizabeth muttered, pulling at the sleeves of Red’s oversized shirt self-consciously. She was wearing one of his button-up dress shirts over a pair of shorts that barely peeked out from beneath the white fabric. Her wet hair hung around her face and down, dampening the shirt to near-translucence, causing the fabric to stick to her skin around her neck and shoulders. 

"Radiant," Red whispered, barely audible.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, looking up from the button she was toying with between her long fingers.

He swallowed thickly, trying to recover. 

“My apologies,” he said, voice slightly strained as he quickly turned away and busied himself with the takeout bags. “I should have pointed them out to you. Dembe, would you be so kind as to show Lizzie where her clothes are?”

Dembe nodded and gestured for Elizabeth to follow him with a smile. They disappeared down the hall again and Reddington stood, taking a deep breath. He couldn't afford to be blindsided like that. Lizzie may know he's not her father, she may be back and sleeping in his bed and wearing his shirts, but he  _ could not _ get distracted. He was walking a dangerous razor's edge, the line between helping Elizabeth extract her revenge from Tom's killers and encouraging her to grieve and heal. One misstep and he may lose her, to a bullet or the darkness inside her. He couldn't afford any mistakes. Red straightened his back and squared his shoulders. He would protect her as he had done her whole life, by any means necessary. Any deviation could mean disaster, and Raymond Reddington was not one to accept anything less than perfection.

—————

Elizabeth returned shortly after to find Dembe enthusiastically digging in to a plate of stuffed french toast and Reddington sitting demurely beside him on the couch, a place set for her beside him. 

"You'd think I starve the man with the way he eats!" Red exclaimed, smiling when he saw her.

"You did burn my breakfast," Dembe said around a mouthful of food.

Reddington rolled his eyes good naturedly and patted the chair he had pulled up for Elizabeth, who perched on the edge and started serving herself some food.

"What have you discovered about-" she started to ask, but Reddington quickly interrupted.

"Talking revenge over breakfast will turn even the finest meal sour," he said, serving himself as well. "We eat, then we'll discuss business."

For a moment Elizabeth wanted to protest, to demand that he told her everything he had learned in the past year, but she took a deep breath and calmed the anger inside her.

Patience. She had waited, biding her time, for almost a year. Growing stronger, learning survival skills and building her body back to what it used to be. Be patient, she told herself. Tom's killers were as good as dead, one breakfast wouldn't change that.

Besides, the food looked  _ really _ good.

"So," Reddington started, filling her plate with eggs, fruit, and french toast. "Where did you go?"

Elizabeth poked at the food with her fork.

"Alaska, a cabin up there."

Red smiled, serving himself as well.

"A fine retreat. Peaceful."

"It was," she replied. "Until a guy from witsec landed on my doorstep and four Carlucci goons right behind him."

She took a bite of breakfast while Red stared at her.

"That was you?"

"You heard about it?" She asked around a mouthful of food.

"The police were baffled, I hadn't heard anything from my side of things, it piqued my curiosity."

"Yeah, well," Elizabeth sighed. "That was me."

She set down her fork and looked Reddington in the eye.

"I promised you that I would try to grieve."

He met her gaze evenly, listening.

"And I tried. I really did. I didn't go looking for trouble, it found me. And part of me is glad it did.

"It doesn't matter that those men were bad or that it was them or me. What matters is I did it, I was good at it, and I didn't lose any sleep over it."

Reddington took a breath in, nodding.

"You will. Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow. But you will. It's just a matter of when."

"Maybe," she acknowledged. "Later. When I've crossed the abyss. But all that matters is that I'm healed and I'm back. And I'm coming for Tom's killers."

She could feel the anger and pain boiling inside her, just below the surface. Part of her knew, in a distant, detached way, that she had to be careful or it would boil over and she would never be the same. A bigger part of her didn't care and kept the fire stoked, fueling her for the work ahead.

"Anyways, I….I couldn't keep my promise. And after you kept yours, I know it couldn't have been easy. Can you forgive me?"

Red shifted closer to her, taking her hands in his and pressing a light kiss to each of them. 

"Of course," he murmured, lips moving against her fingers as his eyes found hers. "I only hope you'll be able to forgive yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines borrowed from Blacklist Season 5 episode 9, Ruin. Also just one of my favorite episodes in general, that back and forth between Billy and Lizzie?? So good. Anyways, getting off track. I hope you guys enjoy! I kind of switch between Red's and Liz's point of view. Is it confusing? Please let me know. More action coming soon!


	4. Shell

Several hours later the food was packed away and the living room looked like a filing cabinet had exploded all over it. Dembe had retrieved Elizabeth’s boxes from storage and she, Red, and Dembe were meticulously combing through every file and photograph. Elizabeth grabbed a photo of the damascus steel switchblade knife that had gutted herself and Tom. She felt her stomach flip as she stared at it. For a moment a splitting pain in her head had her seeing white, and it’s almost as if she could hear Tom’s groans, feel his cold fingers shakily reaching for hers.

“Lizzie,” Reddington’s voice, low and gravely, cut through the flashback. She looked down and saw the photograph trembling in her hands. Grabbing a thumbtack, she savagely stabbed through the photograph and pinned it to the center of the wall.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I didn’t want the security deposit back anyways,” Red said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. A glare from Elizabeth quickly silenced him.

“The man who st-” she stopped, bracing her hand against the wall by the photograph.

“The man,” she tried again. “He was...white, but he had a slight accent. 5’5’. Heavyset. Wore glasses. Spoke and moved with authority.”

Reddington nodded, and held his hand out behind him. Dembe placed another photograph, this one of a ruddy, stocky man with ginger hair and beard, in his hand. 

“That man. He was there too. He…” Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall. Her memories were flickering and blurred around the edges like an old film movie. “He grabbed the bag of bones out of the bedroom.”

“Robert Navarro,” Reddington provided. Elizabeth nodded, taking the photograph and pinning it above and to the right of the knife photo. 

“Do you have any post-it notes?” she asked. Dembe produced a stack of notes and a pen, handing it over. Elizabeth bent her head, hair falling in a dark curtain around her face as she scrawled Navarro’s name on a note and attached it to his photograph.

“The police think he killed Tom. He didn’t.”

“I know.”

“The others.”

Reddington handed her pictures and she pinned them up, sticking their names to their photographs. Some of them were dead, some were missing. Fischbauch, Worgul, Madigan, JL, Shelly. Reddington and Dembe had killed most of them the day Tom died. 

Elizabeth took a step back, crossing her arms, and studied the mosaic of mystery they were slowly putting together.

“What do you know?” She turned to Red, who was scanning the photographs carefully.

“I wish I knew more,” he replied regretfully. “The men who died in your home were members of the Nash drug syndicate. They’re an international organization, wealthy and secretive. I’ve tried to pursue other members of the organization but it’s been a lot of expensive dead ends. Either they’re completely ignorant of what happened or whoever hired them is powerful enough to keep them quiet.”

“Dammit.” 

Elizabeth rubbed a hand over her mouth, biting at her thumb nail as she thought.

“I try not to lower myself to petty street drugs,” Reddington said, moving to the coat closet “but from what I’ve heard, three of the dead men used to set up shop on a corner by Kaufman Food and Liquor. I’m sure they’ve been replaced by other expendable men by this point, but you know what they say-”

Reddington shrugged on his coat and twirled his hat in his hands before placing it on his head.

“You need bait to catch a big fish. Shall we?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth agreed, plucking the car keys from Dembe’s hands as he went to gather his things. “I’m driving.”

Dembe looked surprised, glancing between her and Reddington, but the older man just sighed and gestured for him to let it go.

“This should be fun,” Reddington said, giving them both a tight smile.

—————

Elizabeth enjoyed being behind the wheel of Reddington's Mercades. She wove in and out of traffic skillfully, with narrow misses that had the older man holding his breath a few times. Even Dembe, who was sitting next to Red in the back as she had instructed, seemed a little nervous. They could both feel the angry, tense energy rolling off Elizabeth in waves, and they exchanged a worried look as she made another sharp turn.

Before long they were cruising down the street towards Kaufman's Food and Liquor.

"Whatever happens," Elizabeth said, feeling her heartbeat intensify, "don't intervene. It's my turn to handle something."

They heard a click as she fastened one end of a pair of handcuffs to the door.

"Lizzie, what are you planning?" Red asked cautiously.

"I may not be your daughter," she replied, turning the corner and idling at their destination, "but my mother was a traitor and a spy and my father was a naval intelligence officer. I know how to get what I want."

The trio fell silent as a young man in a tracksuit approached the car. Elizabeth rolled down the window.

"Can I help you?" The man asked, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Bobby Navarro," Elizabeth said.

"I don't know who that is."

The man started to leave, and Elizabeth raised her voice.

"Don't walk away from me!" Her tone was full of danger and tinged with desperation. The man took the bait, turning back with a dark scowl.

"What'd you say to me?"

"Bobby Navarro, where is he?"

"I told you, I don't know who that is."

The man turned once more.

"And I told you not to walk away from me," she yelled after him.

He spun around and stalked back to the car.

"Listen bitch, I think you're a little lost."

"Tell me where Bobby Navarro is."

"I told you to get lost!"

His hand shot forward, wrapping around her neck. Dembe started to move but Red stopped him with an arm across his chest, watching, calculating.

In an instant, Elizabeth had the other side of the handcuffs locked around the man's wrist. He looked down, dumbfounded.

"You want me to leave?" 

Her voice was different now. Calm, cool, collected. She shrugged a little.

"Alright."

Pressing on the gas slightly, she started to drive down the access road between the buildings.

"Hey," the man quickly had to start jogging to keep up with her. "Hey!"

"You look pretty athletic in that tracksuit," Elizabeth said, "but I've got a full tank of gas and this isn't my car, so I'm kinda joyriding it today."

The man was running to keep from being dragged beside the car, eyes wide and desperate.

"I don't know where Navarro is!" He yelled, pleadingly.

"Wrong answer," she spat back at him, speeding up.

"I don't, I swear! You're crazy!" He was tripping over himself now, hand gripping the door.

"I recommend you save your breath," Elizabeth said, accelerating again. "If you run out of breath you can't talk. If you can't talk, you can't answer my questions, and if you can't answer my questions, I'll kill you."

The man blanched, making his decision. "We don't have direct contact. There's a guy though, a guy we call for reups-"

His train of thought broke as he was dragged along for a few yards before he regained his footing, running awkwardly alongside the car.

"Make the call," Elizabeth ordered, slowing down. The man nodded shakily, staring at her in disbelief and fear. 

It didn't take long for the meeting to be set. After he made the call the man got cocky again, trying to regain some of his decimated dignity.

"Navarro will cap your ass," he sneered as she adjusted the handcuffs to restrain his hands behind his back. "Why you want him anyways?"

"He killed someone I loved," Elizabeth's reply was emotionless.

"They probably deserved it," the man said with a shrug. He never saw the first hit coming.

Elizabeth's punch laid him out on the ground. She winced, shaking her hand out as she advanced on the man. Straddling his waist, she pulled back again.

"You aren't even worthy to speak about it," she growled, and landed another blow on his face. She felt the man's nose shatter beneath her hand, the small bones splintering and cartage shifting. The sharp, metallic scent of blood drifted up to her. This man was part of the cartel that had taken everything from her. It doesn't matter that he didn't know who she was. He was a criminal, a drug pusher who ruined lives.

Her next hit split open the skin above his eye, sending blood trickling down the side of his face. She might have fractured his orbital bone, something had cracked. Somewhere in the distance she could hear him blubbering, begging for her to stop, but it was as if a haze had settled over her.

She pulled back again, ready to inflict more damage, but a strong hand gripped her wrist tightly, restraining her. Lip lifted in a snarl she whipped her head around to see who was stopping her. Reddington's calm green eyes met her furious, tortured gaze.

"Elizabeth, enough," he declared. 

They stared at each other for a few long moments, until she released the tight fist she had balled her hand into. Reddington dropped her wrist and watched as she stood, leaving the drug dealer curled on the ground.

"Dembe will handle the meeting with the informant," Reddington said, and his tone left no room for argument. "We will wait in the car."

He was worried that she would argue. Her eyes lit up with defiance for a moment, but the spark faded just as quickly, and she silently followed him back to his car while Dembe hauled the man to his feet.

After sliding into the plush backseat of the car and having the door shut firmly behind her, Elizabeth was starting to feel somewhat like a chastened child. Reddington slid into the seat beside her, not looking at her.

They both studied the leather seats in front of them in silence. Even though they were only a foot away, if that, it felt as though a chasm had opened up between them.

"What was that, Lizzie?" His voice was low, interwoven with sorrow and concern. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, knowing his piercing gaze would be on her, see right through her. She felt as though he could see her under a microscope, see every thought laid out as if in a book to peruse at his leisure. He understood her when she didn't even understand herself, but she didn't want that right now. 

"It was my business, you had no right to intervene," she snapped, but there was no true venom behind her words. The adrenaline of the fight was gone, leaving her feeling empty and drained. 

"This isn't you," Red replied.

"No," she agreed, catching him off guard. "It isn't. I'm... stuck. Just fixated on finding the man who took Tom from me, of making him suffer."

She had spent nearly a year in Alaska and had spoken to almost no one the entire time, she hadn't even unpacked. It hadn't been living, just...existing.

"I feel like I've been hollowed out and I'm just a shell, a flat, paper cutout of who I used to be, angry and alone. I know this isn't me, I know it isn't what Tom would want or what Agnes deserves but I don't know how to get myself back."

She fought back tears, sniffling and turning to look out the window so the man beside her wouldn't see her struggling not to cry.

"Revenge won't bring him back, Lizzie."

She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath.

"I know. But I can't rest knowing that his killer is out there, that he got away with it."

"We'll find the bastard."

Red nodded to the car pulling up a little ways away.

"Dembe will have a location on Navarro for us soon."

Elizabeth nodded and took another breath, less shaky this time.

"In the meantime, I think you need a distraction," Red said.

"I really don't," Elizabeth replied.

"Nonsense! Leads take time to shake out and besides, I've got a hell of a treasure hunt to go on. Will you come with me?"

Elizabeth turned to him, amused disbelief written over her face.

"Treasure hunt?"

Reddington grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter, I hope you enjoyed it! We'll be mirroring the show in our AU for a little bit, it'll branch off more extremely soon.


End file.
